


Many Ways

by hardlyinhightown



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-typical swearing, Gen, Post canon, Post peaceful revolution, Snapshots, no beta we die like men, rating is t because hank’s a pottymouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 19:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15298593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyinhightown/pseuds/hardlyinhightown
Summary: “Did you… have something or… I don’t know, do you wanna just hang out or what?”Connor shrugs – an incredibly human gesture – and it occurs to Hank that even though he thought that Connor has his people now, he doesn’t really know anyone. Doesn’t have friends. Except for…Oh.Right.–Adjusting is a process for both of them, told moment at a time.





	Many Ways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassassino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassassino/gifts).



> I wrote this as a birthday gift to my dear dear friend who I love a lot. Happy birthday, Em!! I hope you enjoy this. I promise I'm working on the Infamous fic, too!
> 
> I'm a sucker for Hank and Connor's dynamic and wanted to explore that and how they both adjust to the little things that come with freedom.

 

 

1.

 

Hank expects Connor to start running with Markus and his people – well, their people, he supposes – now that the revolution is over. Good for him, but Hank can’t keep telling himself he doesn’t feel lonely all of a sudden.

Heh. _Him_. Hank hasn’t referred to Connor as “it” for a long time now, but noticing it still makes him smile to himself sometimes. Maybe his hatred of androids was never as deep-rooted as he initially thought.

He’s started keeping his gun in a lockbox when he’s not working, just like it’s supposed to be, and not somewhere at hand in case he feels like playing just one more round of Russian roulette again. These days he doesn’t. He starts taking Sumo for longer walks whenever the walls in his house start feeling too tall, and the fresh air clears his head in a way no alcohol ever did. Doesn’t mean he stops drinking, but there’s a little voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like Connor that insists he should cut back on the booze.

So he does. A little.

He walks the length of a block he’s only visited once or twice before, Sumo trotting lazily beside him. An android, pretty doe-eyed girl with unevenly clipped black hair passes him by, back straight but eyes nervously darting back to him and away. There are still some hate crimes against androids popping up on Hank’s desk at work and suddenly he feels like saying hello to this girl.

It’s stupid. Hank’s never been a “greeting strangers on the street” kind of guy, but the girl’s LED is flashing nervously under the strands of dark hair and Hank wants to tell her it’s okay, he’s kind of on her side. Kind of. In some ways. Many ways. It’s hard to explain, even to himself.

He doesn’t say anything, and they pass.

 

 

 

 

2.

 

Hank gets a message from Connor exactly at 9:15 am on a Saturday morning.

For a change, he’s actually awake before noon, and he’d like to know who’s damn influence that is.

Scratch that, he _knows_ who’s influence that is, and now that exact prick is messaging him way too early on a Saturday and requesting a meeting at Chicken Feed at midday.

 _Chicken Feed._ Kid’s got a weird sense of humor.

Hank puts his face in his hands so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the fact he’s smiling. At his feet Sumo lets out a deep sigh.

 

 

 

 

3.

 

Connor is absolutely terrible at giving hugs.

Hank drags him close, at first with one arm to keep it kind of casual but fuck it, they’ve been through so much shit and Connor deserves more than a pretend-casual hug. So he wraps another arm around the kid’s shoulders and finds half of his brain wondering if androids can feel cold. Connor’s jacket is very light.

Connor himself seems pleased, if maybe a little surprised. Hank’s seen him run like a fucking gazelle and dodge bullets and whatnot with unimaginable grace, but suddenly Connor is all sharp elbows and hands he doesn’t know what to do with. Finally they settle somewhere on Hank’s back, patting almost awkwardly, and Hank laughs.

”Miss me, Hank?” Connor asks when Hank finally lets him go, and his hands don’t fly to straighten his tie like they used to.

“In your dreams, Connor,” Hank replies, because maybe androids do have dreams and the way Connor smiles with his whole face, just a tad more relaxed than before, indicates that he got the joke that wasn’t really even a joke. Hank supposes _that_ is the joke.

Truth is that he did miss Connor. He just got used to having him around, as nosy and fidgety and insufferable as he is. Hank wonders if the deviancy made Connor more of these things. He finds that if it did, he doesn’t mind.

“So, how have you been?” he asks before he gets too caught up in his own head. “How’s freedom feeling?”

“It’s been good,” Connor replies. “There’s still much to do, and Markus is of course doing his best, but I felt my assistance during the first days after the revolution was needed.”

“And now?”

“Now,” Connor says slowly, “Markus insisted I do something for myself, that I don’t need to spend all my time with them when I have other places to be.”

“Like Chicken Feed?” Hank can’t help himself, he really can’t. He’s already laughing.

“Like Chicken Feed,” Connor confirms, not without amusement.

“Shit, Connor, you’re officially free and this is the first place you want to come to?”

Connor glances around, like checking the place out, but Hank’s got a feeling he’s almost admiring the scenery, shitty as it is. The world must look different without mission objectives or code walls or whatever the hell Connor was shackled to before.

“I…” Connor begins, searching for words, before simply saying, “I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Hank doesn’t really know what to say to that. “Did you… have something or… I don’t know, do you wanna just hang out or what?”

Connor shrugs – an incredibly _human_ gesture –  and it occurs to Hank that even though he thought that Connor has his people now, he doesn’t really _know_ anyone. Doesn’t have friends. Except for…

Oh.

Right.

“I’d like that,” Connor says.

Hank finds he’d like that, too.

 

 

 

 

4.

 

Hank lost his taste for hanging out with people for fun a long time ago, but with Connor he’s not sure why he ever started declining invitations and leaving calls unanswered. Fuck it if he’s never really spent time with anyone like Connor before, android or no android. It feels good to not be alone again.

He’d think he’d get sick of seeing Connor’s goofy face every day, but he doesn’t. Well, he does but only sometimes. Fowler says it’d be a shame to lose Connor and his skillset, so Hank’s still the only cop in DPD to have an android for a partner, even if it’s still under debate what Connor’s rank is and whether he needs to take the test to be officially qualified.

“What the hell are we gonna do, shelf him until the test date? He’s been with me for forever now, I don’t see why it shouldn’t continue that way,” Hank snaps, and Fowler relents.

Hank's always known which strings to pull.

So Connor gets to keep his desk, neatly organized and void of any decoration, rubbish or old snacks. It makes Hank’s desk look especially terrible. Hank figures that messing up Connor’s desk is easier than cleaning up his own, or that’s what he tells himself when he walks into a Home Depot and buys a small cactus for Connor’s desk.

Of course the kid’s already sitting there when Hank gets to work so he can’t nonchalantly plant it there and pretend he doesn’t know where it came from, so he just kind of plonks it down next to Connor’s data console before slumping down in his own chair.

Connor lifts his eyes from the console, his LED blinking curiously. “What’s this?”

“It’s, uh, a cactus.” Hank doesn’t feel like explaining himself. Hell, he probably couldn’t even explain himself anymore. He’s not sure what he was thinking anyway. “Don’t put it in your mouth. It’ll end badly.”

Connor huffs out a laugh as he picks up the tiny terracotta pot and turns it over in his hands. “ _Echinopsis eyriesii_.”

Hank blinks. ”What?”

Connor looks up. ”Its Latin name.”

"Scanned it?"

"Mm-hmm." Connor sets the pot down gingerly and leaves Hank wondering if he's ever heard the android – or any android – make an affirmative hum instead of actually replying before. “You bought this for me? I should pay you back.”

Hank waves a hand, already embarrassed. “Ahh, don’t fuss, Connor. It’s a gift. For your desk or your, I dunno, birthday or whatever the hell you people celebrate.”

“I see.” Connor looks so ridiculously pleased that Hank’s doubts about the stupid cactus just evaporate. “Thanks, Hank.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 

 

 

 

5.

 

After weeks of watching Connor wear that same suit – hell, after watching him crawl through various crime scenes, different forms of nature and several nasty shootouts – Hank absolutely has to ask.

“You ever wash that? Your suit?”

Connor blinks. “CyberLife used to do that as part of my maintenance, but obviously… Well. Obviously not anymore.”

“Yeah, well, don’t you have any other clothes?” Hank wiggles his spin chair absently from side to side. It’s almost six in the evening and they’ve been working desk the entire day and honestly all this sitting around is starting to hurt his back.

Connor frowns ever so slightly. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“Uh, no offense but it’s starting to smell a little.” It sounds like a joke but it’s not. Not only does it smell like dust, dirt and something that reminds Hank of the smell of a new car, but it’s also got dirt stains on its knees and sleeves, and the rust-coloured stain near the hem of the jacket looks a lot like dried blood. Hank also happens to know that it’s spattered with traces of blue blood, even if they are invisible to his human eyes by now.

“Oh. Perhaps you’re right.” Connor looks down at his clothes. His tie needs adjusting. Hank doesn’t mention it.

He’s been silent for a moment too long because Connor asks, “Hank, are you saying I need to buy new clothes?”

Yes, Hank wants to say, but does Connor even have any money? Even if everything seems to be alright for androids now, there’s still so many technicalities. Androids don’t have property. They don’t have money. Well, Connor has his quarter but that’s really not much, and Hank doubts he could get him to part with it anyway. Markus is apparently doing everything he can to negotiate aid and support for his people but android rights are a confusing subject when they don’t really have anything to start with, and the government insists they can’t just start handing out money and living accommodations. Not without roping a dozen android representatives into lengthy negotiations first, it seems.

Shit, Hank’s practically taken the only android that’s considered a negotiator by default from them to do paperwork with him. Connor himself insists he’s right where he wants to be for now, so maybe he shouldn’t feel too guilty about it, but still.

“Hank?”

 “What? I mean, uh, sure, yeah."

( _What are you doing today, Hank? Oh, you know, not much. Just taking my android partner shopping. The usual. He’s only ever worn like one or maybe two sets of clothes and the last time I bought any new clothes was like five years ago so this can only end well. You?)_

 

 

6.

 

Connor prefers smart casual clothes. Hank should’ve guessed; the kid just looks like a prep in pretty much any outfit. He insists wearing a suit to work, too, like a fuckin’ James Bond copycat.

Hank has to teach him to use the laundry machine. Apparently nobody saw it necessary to program basic housekeeping stuff in on an android cop. Either that, or Connor is playing dumb to fuck with him. Hank’s not sure.

 

 

 

 

7.

 

Connor usually spends his weekends with Markus and his gang. Hank’s not sure what they’re doing, but the android rights negotiations are on the news every other day, so at least they seem to be making progress. He supposes he’s happy for them.

Fuck it, he _is_ happy for them. Connor’s a good one. Hank hasn’t met Markus but he seems pretty decent, too. Sometimes Hank catches a glimpse of him on TV and when you let your thoughts wander as much as he sometimes does when he’s had a drink or two, it’s easy to forget that Markus has the same blue blood running through his veins as Connor and the rest of the androids. He seems so stressed and solemn and _young_. Then again, despite looking like twenty-something Markus can’t be much older than just a few years. Hell, Connor is barely a few months old.

Time and age get so weird when it’s about androids. Hank’s fifty-fuckin’-three years old and he wonders what it’d be like to live forever.

“Hey, Connor? Do you celebrate birthdays?” he asks the next day. “Or, like, Christmas?”

It’s only two weeks before Christmas. Connor looks at his console thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think we… have birthdays the same way humans do. Christmas, too, is a human tradition as it’s based on human religion – “

“Wait – do you believe in God?” Hank drops the pretense of working and turns his full attention on Connor.

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirks upwards. “You’ve got a lot of questions today.”

Hank scoffs, but there’s no ill will in his voice. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He remembers rA9 and suddenly doesn’t really want to know anymore.

Connor seems to pick up on his mood and drops that particular subject. “As I was saying, I don’t think we celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday, but I like the idea of a traditional Christmas. Do you have any plans for Christmas, Hank?”

“Not really.” He hasn’t celebrated Christmas since – well, since his only reason for buying presents and putting up a Christmas tree died.

Connor doesn’t ask any more questions but he does appear on Hank’s doorstep on Christmas Eve with snowflakes in his hair and on his shoulders like a ridiculously bad case of dandruff, holding a small potted cactus in his hands.

It’s Hank’s first Christmas gift in years.

 

 

 

//

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very much open to constructive criticism and grammar pointers if y'all have any.
> 
> I'm also planning to explore this subject more so stay tuned for that, I suppose.


End file.
